


and icarus screamed as he fell

by blazeofglory



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire does not believe in revolution. He does not believe in salvation. He does not believe in the world, and he does not believe in himself. He doesn’t believe in marriage or happy endings or a deeper meaning to life. But he does believe in fighting for what you want, no matter how futile your attempts may be. He believes in the power of a punch and the grounding headache of a hangover. He believes in liquid courage, in happy pills, in razor blades, in tequila, in absinthe, in needles, in filth-- </p>
<p>The only good thing he believes in is Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and icarus screamed as he fell

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my name is Sam, and I like my Grantaire dark, angsty, and unhappy. Sorry about this. And sorry about the last Les Mis fic too. Someday, I will let him and Enjolras be happy together.

Grantaire does not believe in revolution. He does not believe in salvation. He does not believe in the world, and he does not believe in himself. He doesn’t believe in marriage or happy endings or a deeper meaning to life. But he does believe in fighting for what you want, no matter how futile your attempts may be. He believes in the power of a punch and the grounding headache of a hangover. He believes in liquid courage, in happy pills, in razor blades, in tequila, in absinthe, in needles, in filth--

The only good thing he believes in is Enjolras.

Their fearless leader, blonde and beautiful and powerful, with that burning honesty perpetually shining in his eyes and that commanding voice that never wavers-- well, Grantaire thinks you’d be hard pressed to find someone that _doesn’t_ believe in him. He is captivating and fucking _majestic_ , and if he is beautiful when he simply sits and does nothing (and he is, he _is_ , when studying or watching tv or smiling that small smile when he’s with his friends, he’s _beautiful_ ), then he is ethereal when he speaks. Every word comes out with conviction, every opinion and statement rings true, and Grantaire _almost_ starts to believe in silly things like revolutions. Enjolras could read his grocery list and Grantaire would be just as unable to look away.

That isn’t even it. Somehow, it gets even worse-- or is it better? Grantaire loves Enjolras completely, 100%, deep to his bones and his very core, and that is an unshakable, unchangeable love. Grantaire loves him when he sits quietly, and when he speaks, and he loves him the most when he is angry. When a rally goes wrong and turns into a riot, Enjolras is still standing above the crowd, an angel wreathed in a red coat, yelling for change and battle, his hair falling into his eyes-- and soon, he gets down, because he is not an impartial god, and he joins the throng. The world tries to beat him down, to tell him no, but Enjolras is not Grantaire; Enjolras _believes so hard,_ and he fights for it. He bloodies his knuckles and breaks a rib and gets arrested, and Grantaire loves him more fiercely every second that passes.

It is not an obsession. An addiction, maybe, but not an obsession. Grantaire is careful not to reveal his affections, to never even hint; he keeps his distance. He does not let himself be alone with Enjolras, he does not let himself paint that beautiful face over and over like he wants to, and he does not let himself think of Enjolras constantly when he’s not there. He is careful.

Eponine understands, or at least does her very best. She’s almost as fucked up as he is; maybe more, actually, just in a different way. She shakes his head at him for loving a man that will never love him back, but all he has to do is mention Marius Pontmercy and she shuts up. He feels cruel throwing that in her face, but what else does she expect? He knows he’s got an Enjolras problem; among many, many other problems. Eponine doesn’t stop him from drinking or shooting up or any other bad idea that strikes his fancy day to day-- she only tries to stop his addiction to his muse.

Grantaire can’t help but feel that maybe she makes a good point-- Enjolras is the one addiction that will really mess him up in the end. He doesn’t even want to know what that withdrawal would be like.

The problem, Grantaire muses when he’s high out of his mind and swirling dark shades of blues and purples on a messy canvas, is that he’s put Enjolras on a pedestal. He even calls him Apollo to his fucking _face,_ that’s how bad it is. Enjolras is a fighter, an avenging angel, a righteous god. Grantaire is _nothing_ , not worth the dirt on Enjolras’ shoes, not worth a second thought, let alone a second glance. If anything, he is Icarus, heedless of consequences, with a death wish, so desperate to reach the light that he doesn’t care what happens to himself.

He thinks, maybe, burning up in Enjolras’ sunlight isn’t such a bad way to go. Flying towards that sun, the view must be spectacular before it gets blinding, so beautiful that he doesn’t notice his wings falling apart around him. The light would burn him, would _cleanse_ him, would make him scream as he fell, and he would give thanks for having even that.

God, Eponine is right: he has a problem.

Grantaire has plenty of practice with ignoring problems, though, so nothing changes. He continues to skip class, fail every paper because he can’t be bothered to care, drink every morning and every night, go to each Amis meeting only because one of his friends always stops by to drag him there… So many hours spent in Enjolras’ company, he needs more confidence than his body can provide, and he usually makes sure to get it in his system _somehow_ before he leaves.

Except, not everything always goes according to plan. Jehan is his ride to a meeting one day, and he shows up early for once, and Grantaire isn’t-- he isn’t _ready_. But he takes a minute in the bathroom before they leave, Jehan chatting about his day through the door, and he slips everything he needs into his pockets. He’ll have more time when they get to the Musain, he knows. He can take care of it there, and then he can face his friends, face the unrequited love of his fucking life, without throwing up.

“Ready?” Jehan asks, completely oblivious to Grantaire’s secrets and bad habits-- just as Grantaire likes it. If his friends knew, they would worry; they would not understand. The only reason Eponine knows about his unfortunate (yet necessary) habits is because they have the same fucking drug dealer. Small world, right? It seems like Montparnasse sells heroin to half the country, honestly.

Grantaire nods and smiles like nothing’s wrong. When they get to the cafe, he slips away to the bathroom before anyone really notices.

Five minutes later, he’s passed out on the bathroom floor.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s being shaken awake, the image of his beloved Apollo swimming before his eyes.

He doesn’t remember much of the rest of that night.


End file.
